


Feathery comfort

by Prawnperson



Category: Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists! (2012)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hammocks, I can’t write proper angst, I love this bird, I wrote this when I should have been asleep, M/M, Mild Innuendo, Pining, Polly is smarter than everyone and she’s a dodo, Pre-Relationship, albino is baby, bad title, but you don’t know you’re pining, scarf is sad, that’s gotta sting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prawnperson/pseuds/Prawnperson
Summary: The pirate with a scarf is sad and Polly is the best bird he could hope for in a time of crisis.
Relationships: Pirate Captain & Pirate With A Scarf, Pirate Captain/Pirate with a Scarf
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Feathery comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off several things. The first being that Polly is amazing and I love her, the second being that Scarf sometimes comes across as very sad and piney and perfect for big sad scenarios, and thirdly because I have a dodo plush I cuddle when I’m sad and it’s like instant serotonin.

“It’s just so upsetting.”

The pirate with a scarf sighs, curled up on his side in his hammock as he listens to the rest of the crew’s jovial roaring above. The sound of shanties float down, muffled through the layers of old wood, giving everything an eerie sort of tint. 

“I am so tired of everything. Not even adventures are as fun as they once were. We go places and we meet people and we save the day, usually, but it is just...there. There’s never any real satisfaction to it anymore because I know we’ll just do it again, and again, and nothing will change even though I’m not even sure I want anything to change!”

He can feel his stomach clench and lurch, the muscles there trembling with the effort of keeping his emotions steady, but he refuses absolutely to let them run rampant. He is the first mate, the one who is sensible and reliable. Decent. Upright. 

But he is so, so tired.

“I don’t even do real pirate stuff anymore, do I? Not really. I just eat and read and wax decks. I don’t dig up treasure and I don’t sword fight and I never, ever talk to girls.”

He shuts his eyes and listens to the creaking of the hull.

“It’s...I am so fed up with this all, and that terrifies me. If I’m fed up with a life of adventure, then am I destined to just be unhappy in everything? No matter what I do? It makes me want to...I don’t even know. I don’t know anything and everyone thinks I do. It’s like...I want something, and I just can’t place it, no matter how hard I try, and it makes me feel empty.”

The quivering, sickly sensation finally reaches the pirate with a scarf’s throat and forms a lump there, making him swallow heavily. It does nothing to shift the feeling, instead only making it worse.

“There are days when I’m just joyless. I’m a sad, joyless pirate. I don’t want to be joyless.”

His eyes suddenly feel very wet, almost stinging with the effort of holding back tears he’s trying desperately hard not to cry.

“I just want to feel happy like everyone else, and I don’t know why I can’t.”

Whenever he finally cracks his eyes open again, he’s met by a soft patch of charcoal grey feathers and a concerned coo, and the ridiculousness of the situation hits him full on, that he’s having a breakdown in front of a bird who should be extinct and eats custard creams. He reaches out, ignoring the look on Polly’s little face that makes it look very much like she understood every word he just said and has every intent to blab about it to the Captain, and holds her close to his chest. It’s not so tight that she can’t escape if she wants to, but it’s enough that he feels secure. Even as he starts to cry, shallow little waves of discomfort pushing against his throat from the inside to force out gasps, he still feels a bit better, as though a weight has been lifted from off his chest.

He falls asleep quickly, Polly nuzzling into his chest, occasionally pecking at the blanket over his shoulders in what could be seen as an attempt to pull it up higher. 

———

The Captain misses both his Number Two and Polly. Without them, the whole party seems a bit less fun, and he wants to find out where both of them are. As the celebrations wind down, he creeps off to go and look for them, bidding everyone else goodnight.

He’s quite glad when the first place he checks, the pirate with a scarf’s cabin, houses them both. He less glad whenever he sees that Number Two is clutching Polly like she’s a lifebuoy in a storm, his face red and shiny in the glow of the lamp hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the evidence of his upset. Polly makes a face that seems to be daring the Captain to take her away, snapping her beak lightly for emphasis. He rubs his fingertips against the phantom sting and tries to weigh up his options.

The simple fact of the matter is that the Captain is a bit tiddly, and he’s not very good at making decisions even when sober. He very carefully takes off his boots and puts them on the floor, followed by his belt, then his hat, and finally his coat, hanging them up a little haphazardly on the door handle. He sits on the edge of the hammock, silently counting to three before he swings his legs over and under the covers. The pirate with a scarf stirs, only for Polly to trill softly and settle him back down again. The Captain grins in triumph.

Settling down beneath the large red blanket, the Captain runs his hand over Polly’s head, cupping his palm for her to nuzzle affectionately against. Her stubby wings flap gently, making the pirate with a scarf smile in his sleep, fingers sinking into her plush feathers.

———

“Where’s Polly?”

The albino pirate asks, when he’s tucked in and clutching a small, shabbily but lovingly made sock-rag-bits-of-seaweed teddy that looks a little bit like her. He usually likes to say goodnight to her, and he’s slightly worried by her absence.

“Sleepin’ with the pirate with a scarf.”

The pirate with gout tells him from the next hammock over. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, far too tired. The albino pirate makes a noise of understanding and goes back to petting the seaweed feathers before he realises something else.

“Where’s the Captain, then?”

This time, it’s the surprisingly curvaceous pirate who leans over the side of her hammock, the hammock above his, to give him a look that is halfway between annoyance and affection.

“Sleepin’ with the pirate with a scarf.”

The albino pirate makes another, more affirmative noise of understanding, settling himself down in below the covers. He feels a little foolish for not drawing the obvious conclusion himself.

“Oh, of course he would be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Albino is SO baby


End file.
